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He hesitates and then sighs, reaching into his jacket pocket to remove a thin leather wallet. He opens it and flips through it, then hands it tome.
"Goahead."
I take it, feeling bad that I'm snooping but I don't stop. I open the wallet, which is made of fine leather and is smooth to the touch, black, with an inner fold for cash in a money clip and then a spot for credit cards and ID. Inside an inner pocket, I find a tiny picture of me as a girl, maybe ten, the year before my mother died. I sit on the side of the bed and just look atit.
I remember the day this was taken. The ten-year old me stands in the wings of a stage in an auditorium, waiting to perform in a recital. I'm wearing a black velvet dress with a big white bow tied in front and my long hair is up in a bun, tendrils falling around my face like a proper little lady. My face has this dreamy look to it, as if I'm staring off in the distance, lost in thought. It's me, just with a softer face, smallerfeatures.
He crawls over to me, and looks at it over myshoulder.
"Where did you get this?" I ask, not knowing how I feel aboutthis.
"Your mother gave it tome."
"Why?"
"Because I supported her wish to keep youout."
"What do youmean?"
"To train you as a musician and wait until you were an adult before you were offered the option to join the Council. I helped her and your father hide from theCouncil."
"Michel," I say and turn to look at him. "Why didn't you tell methis?"
He shrugs oneshoulder.
"I thought it would upset you toknow."
"It upsets me that you didn't tell me." I look on the back and see my name written on the back with the year. My mother's handwriting. "Did I ever meetyou?"
"That night," he says and points to the picture. "It was the recital after your Grade Six Royal Conservatory examination in London. After the event was over at the reception, I stopped by to congratulate you and we shookhands."
"So you knew my parentswell."
"No," he says. "Not well at all. I was merely an intermediary between my group and your family. I didn't know your family had gone back to Boston until a year later. Before I could reestablish contact, your mother died. I did my best to ensure the Council didn't get you in theirclutches."
"So it was you who lost myfile?"
He doesn't say anything for awhile.
"I had a contact in the normal child welfare system who was supposed to find you a good home, and I did lose track of you as soon as you went to live with your foster family. I didn't want to know where you were or who you were with. I wanted to forget about your existence completely, to protect you from the Council. And I succeeded, until you were looking for a translator. I had no idea Julien gave the manuscript to your mother. I asked him for it and he said he'd given it to acollector."
I just sit and look at the picture, my memories drawn back to that time of my life, travelling with my parents through Europe that last year before we moved back toBoston.
"Why?"
He frowns. "What do you mean? Why did Ihelp?"
"Yes. You say how strategically important I am. I thought your mission was the most important thing toyou."
"You were different. I hated the thought that your talent would be wasted. I wanted you to have the chance todevelop."
"I wish you would have told me. I would have feltdifferently."
"What do youmean?"
"If I'd known you knew my parents and helped ourfamily."
He shakes hishead.
